


Learning to Live

by 1treehill



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23163763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1treehill/pseuds/1treehill
Summary: After Atlanta, Bill and Holden are attempting to repair their broken friendship. A stakeout at a university seems to be leading nowhere until Holden disappears.
Comments: 30
Kudos: 120





	1. Stakeout

Bill Tench stretched his body as far as possible in the confines of the unmarked FBI van as he yawned. Bill and Holden were part of a task force set up at George Mason University in Fredericksburg, Virginia. So far the stakeout involved nothing more stressful than waiting, walking and chattering with his fellow agents and his partner, Holden Ford. 

Actually, conversing with Holden was on the near side of stressful lately. Since Atlanta, they hadn’t been able to connect in any way. The anger, misunderstandings and hurt feelings simmered just below every word spoken. And Bill had to admit the anger hadn’t really abated on his part. And Holden constantly acted so guilty that he became an easy outlet for Bill’s anger. Bill understood this wasn’t fair to Holden, but neither of the men seemed to be able to move past it.

The case they were currently working involved the rape, torture and strangulation of six young women, all but one of them college students. The victims were all brunettes, Caucasian, slender and pretty with an innocent look. That was the only way Bill could describe them. Some were beautiful, some plain, but they all shared a look Bill thought of as pure, childlike, for lack of a better word.

All six women were abducted late at night on college campuses around Virginia. The one victim who wasn’t attending a university had been visiting a graduate student who lived in a dorm on campus.

The BSU’s profile described a Caucasian male, 40-50 years old, living alone, physically strong but socially insecure, ordinary looking enough to not garner special attention.

The FBI had been staking out one campus at a time, with Holden and Bill wandering around all evening as student and professor, respectively, attentive to any unusual activity. After two weeks, all the agents were stymied and becoming bored and perhaps a little less sharp. Bill hoped something would happen soon, before the boredom advanced to apathy, which could be very dangerous.

Bill patiently put up with a young agent hovering in front of his face, outfitting him with a communication device that would allow him to be in constant contact with Holden and the agents in the van.

“Is that what the typical college student is wearing these days?” Bill asked Holden with a hint of a grin, as he gestured at the younger agent’s faded Rush concert T-shirt, blue jeans and sneakers.

Holden answered, “I was informed this was the get-up of a nerdy college student. Specifically nerdy. I was vaguely insulted. And is that what the happening professor is wearing these days, Bill?”

Bill looked down at his tweed jacket, white button-up and khakis. “Who knows?” Bill muttered. The conversation, short as it was, felt good, natural. That didn’t happen very often between the two men recently. 

Holden must have been thinking along the same lines because cautiously he looked at Bill and asked, “How have things been, with Nancy and Brian, I mean? Have you, uh, seen them much lately?”

Bill felt the usual bile rise to the back of his throat at the mention of his estranged family. Why did his partner have to keep needling him about his fucked up family situation? Couldn’t he keep the conversation light and shallow?

“No, Holden. I haven’t seen them much lately. Just every few weeks, I take Brian out to eat or to the park,” Bill answered with little emotion.

Holden stared awkwardly at Bill for a minute, mouth moving but no words emerging. Bill waited impatiently and finally blurted out, “Satisfied?”

Holden’s expectant look turned to hurt and he muttered, “I was just wondering how you were doing. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” And he looked away with a guilty expression.

Bill wouldn’t hurt Holden so often if the young man didn’t make it so easy and satisfying. He accepted every bit of blame hurled his way, from the strain of the two men’s friendship to the entire sad situation in Atlanta. Bill thought he should feel some of his own guilt, but couldn’t muster up the energy.

The ensuing silence, though, inspired Bill to put a bit of effort into reaching out to Holden. “What about you? Are you still taking the Valium?”

Holden suddenly looked down into his lap, pink coloring his cheeks. “Yes. I’m still having the panic attacks. I’m trying to keep them to myself, not bother anyone else about them, so the Valium is necessary. Not that I take them like candy. I only use the drugs in an emergency. I’m seeing a psychiatrist and…”

Holden glanced up at Bill with what looked like fear.

“Holden, I don’t need a dossier on your mental status. I’m just making conversation,” Bill said with as little vitriol as he could manage.

Holden looked away from Bill and stared off to the side, lower lip slightly quivering. Bill thought for a moment that Holden was going to cry, and he felt a surge of horror. But then the other young agent in the van began hooking Holden up with the communication equipment and the moment passed.

Bill wondered, not for the first time, what Holden’s childhood and adolescence were like that the child grew into… this man, with almost no social skills, naive beyond imagining, almost incapable of friendship.

Then Bill felt badly, realizing that he was to blame for at least half of the end of their friendship and the stresses in their partnership. He let himself reminisce for a few moments on the road school days, when Holden would annoy him, but in an almost puppyish, sweet way. He seemed so innocent and young, as if the world was new to him.

That all changed with Vacaville and the OPR investigation. The arrogant, vainglorious man that walked out on the OPR meeting and flew to Kemper’s side in California only vaguely resembled the kid he met in the FBI cafeteria mere months earlier.

And if Bill was brusque and insensitive about Holden’s condition after his panic attack and hospitalization, it was understandable. Bill had a lot on his mind as well, with Brian’s trauma after witnessing a child’s accidental murder, and the ever-growing distance between him and Nancy.

Holden and Bill exited the van, Holden with his backpack and Bill with his briefcase. They looked at each other for a brief moment, nodded and went toward their predetermined locations.

Bill settled himself on a bench outside the science building on the south campus and discreetly checked the mike to make sure it was working. He could hear Holden, who was walking around outside the library, do the same.

Now that he was alone, Bill felt some vague sense of guilt bubbling in his stomach. He recalled the hurt look on Holden’s face, realized he’d seen that exact expression on Holden’s face a lot lately when dealing with him, and wondered whether Holden deserved the anger Bill couldn’t seem to stop flinging his way.

Holden had apologized for Vacaville. Ted had asked Bill to babysit Holden in Atlanta, and certainly Bill understood why that was necessary after Kemper, but Holden hadn’t known about the arrangement. Bill remembered blurting that bit of information out to Holden, and Holden’s resultant expression of shock and worry. “You look anxious. Take a fucking Valium.” He had spit that out to Holden that day. Bill had felt bad about that now and again, especially when he’d see Holden in the office clearly having an attack and, with trembling hands, shake out a pill and dry swallow it. The look on Holden’s face as he waited for the drug to take effect was one he saw before, on young soldiers’ faces in Korea during the war, one that said, “I’m dying right now.”

“Bill, can you hear me?” Holden’s slightly scratchy sounding voice came out of the earpiece.

“Yeah, Holden. Loud and clear,” Bill answered, trying for a friendly tone.

“I’ve seen a few men who fit the profile milling around outside the library, but they aren’t acting suspicious in any way. One seemed to be a maintenance worker,” Holden said.

Bill took a surreptitious look around him and said, “I’m only seeing young kids here. Not even any females that match the physical look of the victims.”

Bill lit a cigarette and muttered, “Looks like another wasted night.”

“I’m following the other man right now. At a distance. He’s about 45, stocky, around 6’1”, muscular, slightly balding, Caucasian. Wait a second. He just entered a building. I’m going toward the library again and will circle back to see if he exits,” Bill heard Holden say.

“Be careful, Holden,” Bill said, concern building in his guts.

“Don’t worry, Bill. I’m not exactly his type. I’m almost to the library now. Wait. What—“

Holden’s voice cut off suddenly, and there were sounds of a struggle, Holden grunting and then silence.

“Fuck!” Bill shouted, then, directed to the men in the van, “Did you guys get that? I’m heading to the library right now! Meet me there!”

By the time Bill reached the library steps, the two agents from the van were already there, guns drawn. They were staring at the ground, where Bill could see Holden’s abandoned backpack. As he got closer, he noticed a puddle on the concrete. He looked closer and saw that it was blood. Bill felt a shiver go through his body.

“Did Holden lose his mike?” Bill asked, flustered and in shock.

The agents all quieted and listened closely to their communication devices. Bill could hear vague sounds of traffic and then thuds and dragging noises. Finally, the closing of a vehicle door.

Suddenly a man’s voice, too close to the mike, and staticky, said, “I got your cop. He’s not doing well, but he’s alive. Leave me alone, or I’ll kill him.”


	2. Lost

A cool, clean, refreshing breeze blew through the courtyard in front of the George Mason University library. Bill closed his eyes and tried not to think of how inappropriate it felt when all he could think about was what Holden might be going through while he was standing there.

Ted Gunn arrived 40 minutes after Holden’s disappearance, bringing along Gregg Smith and six more agents. Forty minutes spent analyzing the very few clues the assailant left in his wake. Forty minutes Bill spent pushing his radio earpiece further into his ear canal, hoping to hear something, anything, as if he could will Holden’s voice through it. But after taking Holden hostage and threatening his life in front of the entire FBI, there was nothing but radio silence.

Bill could’t blame Gunn for taking a while to arrive. He also couldn’t blame the two young agents who were in the FBI van for not feeling the same sense of urgency that he did. And he couldn’t even blame Holden for not being careful enough, though he knew he’d blamed the kid for much less many times. But everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. He imagined Holden dying, dead, and all of them doing nothing.

“So, what’s our plan? How are we gonna find him?” Bill said too loudly. He knew his voice conveyed his incredible fury, but couldn’t seem to help it.

Ted motioned for Bill to step aside to talk to him privately. They moved a few feet out of the circle of agents gathering near the small puddle of Holden’s blood on the ground, and Ted said quietly, gently, but clearly, “Bill, not to suggest that you’re being unprofessional, but maybe you should sit this out. You’re way too invested, and I don’t blame you. But we need clear thinking right now. Holden’s life depends on us, and we don’t have much time.”

Bill attempted to rein in his anxiety and answered, “Ted, I have to be involved. If I’m not helping, I’m gonna go crazy.”

“Okay, Bill. Okay. Just take it easy,” Ted said, not unkindly. Turning to the rest of the agents, he continued, “The more time passes, the less chance we have of finding Agent Ford alive. Our best bet is his radio transponder. We know he had it after being abducted and we know it’s working because the unsub used it once. Unfortunately, the comm can only be heard in a limited area, approximately a one mile circumference. Fortunately, that means if we pick up anything on our radio, that will help pinpoint Ford’s location.”

Ted stopped and looked at Bill pointedly. “I’m also hoping Agent Ford himself can help us, maybe give us something to assist in finding him. But we can’t count on that, depending on what condition he’s in.”

Bill flinched at those words, even though he’d already considered the same thing.

Ted paired up the agents, sending them to locations surrounding the university. They would start at the library and make their way farther into the city. 

Bill and Gregg jogged to Gregg’s car, Bill already feeling better from just doing something. But he was experiencing a strange, out-of-body sensation, as if his horror was coexisting with his anger, leaving him numb. He wondered if it compared to what Holden felt during his attacks.

Bill was relieved that Gregg seemed as intense as he felt, and that he was being fairly quiet. But as soon as Gregg sat behind the steering wheel, Bill watched in amazement as the man slowly checked his rearview mirror and put his seatbelt on.

“Are you kidding me, Gregg?” Bill shouted, “You know what could be happening to Holden right now?”

Gregg responded quietly, “Bill, don’t worry.” He pulled out into the street, making sure his transponder was on. “He’s going to be okay. We’ll find him. And I know you probably don’t care, but I’ve been praying for him. I have faith Holden will be fine.”

Bill stared blankly at Gregg and didn’t know how to reply. When he was sitting in church, he had no problem believing in God and the power of prayer. But with Holden’s life in the balance, he couldn’t put stock in anything but action.

“Gregg, I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. I just need to find the kid,” Bill explained with some shame.

“It’s fine. Bill, when we get him back, I really think you and Holden should try to work out your differences. We have a great group at my church that helps people talk through their issues. Mostly married couples, but friends as well,” Gregg offered.

Bill answered, “Thanks, Gregg, but I don’t need to talk about my issues. Let’s just focus on finding Holden, okay?”

The two men listened for sounds from the transponder, but only heard static and silence. Bill stared out at the houses and stores surrounding the university, hoping to hear Holden’s voice.

Ted’s voice came over the radio, breaking the quiet. “We have headquarters looking into outside employees of the university, maintenance companies and vendors. In the meantime…” Ted suddenly stopped speaking, then resumed, “Bill, I just got word from Sanchez and Boyle who are at Fifth and Elm. They heard something on the radio, and it sounds like our man. All units, meet at the corner of Fifth and Elm to receive further instructions.”

As Bill and Gregg neared the intersection, their radio began picking up snatches of chatter from Holden’s abductor.

“…though my sister didn’t deserve what happened to her,” the man said, “but I loved her. You wouldn’t understand. And don’t you expect to be rescued or anything. I want them to hear me, because I need to be understood.”

Bill hadn’t heard Holden’s voice yet and wondered if the man was talking to himself. He couldn’t even contemplate the idea that Holden wasn’t still alive. Soon, Gregg and Bill received their orders to cover the northeast area around the transponder.

The unsub continued, “I didn’t mean to kill her. She was everything to me. Beautiful, innocent, sweet. But everyone said I wasn’t supposed to think of her in that way. Do you know what I mean?”

Bill thought he heard a small grunt, then Holden’s voice, “I understand.” Bill literally reached his hand toward the radio as if he could connect to Holden, whose voice was so quiet and weak.

“You do, huh? You’re just a kid yourself, like my sister was when she died. You kind of remind me of her,” the man said over the radio. Bill heard these words and shook with fury.

Then he heard Holden reply, “I never had a sister, but I understand. Hey, I see some… electrical equipment here. Are you… What do you do… Your job…” Holden’s words were slightly slurred and his thought processes clearly slowed, which suggested a head injury.

“Electrician,” Bill blurted out. “Tell Gunn we need to look into electricians the university used.”

Gregg switched channels on the radio and conveyed the message to Ted.

The killer’s tone changed suddenly as he shouted, “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to give information to the cops. You piece of shit. I was opening up to you! You don’t understand at all. Give me that!”

Over the radio came sounds of a struggle, the man grunting, Holden yelping in pain, and finally a loud crackling sound, then silence. Clearly, the man had destroyed the mike.

Bill’s eyes closed in frustration and terror. They were running out of time. He got on the radio to Ted and asked, “Do you have the information yet on electricians?”

Ted’s voice came tinnily over the radio, “Yes. George Mason uses two electricians regularly. I’m sending Boyle and Sanchez to the home of one, and you and Gregg to the other one.”

Bill tried his hardest not to pressure Gregg to drive too fast, but wished he was behind the wheel.

“There it is. 1214 Howard Street,” Bill pointed out a green house halfway down the block.

Bill and Gregg knocked for a full minute before a black man in his 60s opened the door. The man had clearly been asleep and looked somewhat terrified.

“Bruce Morrow?” Gregg asked politely.

“Yes. What can I do to help you?” Morrow answered, voice shaking slightly.

“FBI. Can we look around your house for a minute? We’re searching for a missing agent and just need to make sure he’s not here,” Gregg said.

“Uh, sure. I’m alone with my wife, but she’s asleep,” Morrow informed them.

Bill suddenly interrupted, “We don’t have time for this shit. This is not the guy, Gregg. Let’s get back to the car and talk to Ted. It’s gotta be the other guy.”

“Thank you, sir. Good night,” Gregg said with a smile, and ran to catch up to Bill who was already halfway to Gregg’s car.

Ted informed Bill that he was correct and that the other electrician, a Hildy Smith, was refusing to let Agents Sanchez and Boyle into his house and was threatening to kill Holden. They were currently at a standoff in front of Smith’s house.

“Jesus Christ,” Bill said as they headed to the location a few miles away. “Holden’s still alive. We gotta get him out of there.”

For the second time that night, guilt flooded Bill’s veins. But this time he wasn’t sure where it was coming from. He just felt responsible for Holden, as his partner, as his superior, as his friend. He was reminded of the car crash a year before, how anxious he felt when he thought Holden was hurt.

It seemed like the entire FBI was congregated at Smith’s house. Unremarkable sedans littered the street and flashing lights lit up the night. Bill could see agents with their guns drawn and aimed at the front door. He ran out of Gregg’s car and approached a man who looked authoritative and was carrying a walkie-talkie.

“Bill Tench. I’m Holden’s partner. What’s going on?” Bill asked the man, a Hispanic man in his mid-50s.

“Smith made his threat and since then we haven’t heard a word. It’s been absolutely quiet. We have a hostage negotiator on the way, but if this asshole doesn’t talk to us, I don’t know what he can do.”

The situation was eerie to Bill, with so many people surrounding the house, yet everything being so quiet. The only sound he heard was the low-level murmur of the police radio chatter.

Bill spotted Ted and was about to ask him a question, when there came the loud pop of a gunshot, accompanied by a flash of light from the darkened house.

Ted shouted, “Enter, enter!” The door was broken down and agents flooded into the house, shouting, guns at the ready. Bill was far behind, trying to not push his way to the front.

“Subject down,” an agent said clearly. “He shot himself.”

Bill finally made his way into the house, and he looked around for Holden. The first thing he saw was Smith on the ground. He had shot himself in the head.

Bill moved further into the house and gasped. He saw Holden lying on his side in a small ball, completely naked and unconscious. Bill ran to his partner and immediately removed his jacket to cover Holden, wanting to protect him from the cold and also the eyes of the other men. He looked closely at the young man and saw that he was covered in bruises, there was blood flowing from a head wound and the fingers of his right hand were unnaturally twisted.

“Where’s the ambulance?” Bill shouted.


	3. Trauma

Bill and Gregg followed the ambulance in Gregg’s car. Bill had wanted to ride with Holden, but the paramedics were treating him and needed the room. The distance from his partner so soon after he was found annoyed Bill. But Holden had yet to regain consciousness.

Holden’s condition was burnt into Bill’s mind, and his imagination made the worst of his injuries. Bill assumed the initial head wound was the cause of his unconsciousness, but had no idea what Smith had done to the young man after they lost contact. Holden might have been beaten further.

Bill’s rage continued to grow, and while most of it was aimed naturally at Smith, there was a small portion pointed at Holden himself, for letting himself be abducted and angering Smith so badly, though this made little sense. He was almost shaking with anger and had to remind himself to breathe.

In the waiting room, Bill continued to seethe while sitting in a cheap plastic chair next to Gregg, who appeared to be praying, or maybe sleeping.

“What’s taking them so long?” Bill blurted out. Gregg looked up at him peacefully. So, praying then.

“It hasn’t been that long, Bill. You gotta be patient,” Gregg soothed.

“Did you see Holden? He looked terrible. I just want to know if he’s gonna be okay,” Bill said as calmly as possible.

Gregg responded, “Yes, I saw him. The poor guy. He’s been through a terrible experience. But I have faith he’s going to be okay, Bill. You have to have faith too.”

Again, Bill’s mind shifted to how Holden looked on the floor of Smith’s house— beaten, bloody, bruised, naked. He didn’t want to think about it, but Bill found himself especially disturbed by Holden’s state of undress. Smith was known as a killer, but also as a rapist, and the possibility that Holden may have been sexually assaulted haunted his thoughts.

A man in his mid-30s came out of the double doors leading to the ER, and looked around. He said, voice raised, “Who’s waiting for the FBI agent?”

Ted appeared out of seemingly nowhere and joined Bill and Gregg at the doctor’s side.

“Agent Ford is going to be okay, but he’s in serious condition right now. He suffered a linear skull fracture, which is serious, yes, but a fairly mild form of skull fracture. I’m not downplaying the injury though, as it’s accompanied by a grade 2 concussion,” the doctor said.

Bill found that his hands were clenched into tight fists and tried to relax himself. The doctor continued, “That’s the most serious of the injuries. A very painful one though is his right hand, where five bones were broken, including three fingers. The hand appears to have been, um, stomped on. He’ll need surgery to align and set the bones.”

Gregg was visibly pained by this news and shifted uncomfortably.

“Agent Ford also has bruised ribs and multiple contusions, including a black eye.” Then the doctor hesitated. “Are any of you Bill Tench?”

Bill tensed, then answered, “I am.”

The doctor looked down at a clipboard and said, “You’re listed as Mr. Ford’s next of kin. Can I speak to you in private?”

Bill felt unaccountably nervous and answered, “This is Ted Gunn and Gregg Smith, and they are both with the FBI. You can say anything to them that you say to me. I didn’t even have any idea that I was listed as his next of kin.”

The doctor looked carefully at Bill and said, “If you’re sure. There’s a somewhat private element of Agent Ford’s condition.” Bill felt himself stop breathing. “There’s some signs of an assault of a sexual nature, though there’s no evidence of penetration. Rather, bruising and scratches on certain areas of his body. Mr. Ford will have to tell us what was done to him, I’m afraid. I thought I should bring this up even though it doesn’t really reflect on his physical condition, since his injuries are the result of a crime.”

Bill suddenly inhaled deeply. He felt intense relief but also extreme worry. The not knowing was eating away at his nerves.

“How is he now? Is he awake?” Ted asked. Bill felt ashamed and grateful that Gunn was asking the important questions.

The doctor answered, “He hasn’t woke yet, but his awareness level is growing. When he wakes, he will no doubt be experiencing headaches and dizziness, along with exhaustion due to the head injury. He’ll be in some pain from the bruising as well, so we’ll have him on pain medications. Don’t be surprised if his memory is initially a bit faulty.”

Ted nodded and said, “We understand. I expect you’ll do everything to make him as comfortable as possible. He’s been through a lot. He’s one of our best agents.”

The doctor smiled and said, “We’ll take the best care of him, don’t worry. And he’s going to be fine. It will just take a while. We’ll set him up in a private room and you’ll be able to visit him.”

Ted shook the doctor’s hand, and the doctor went back into the ER.

Bill spent the time while Holden’s room was being set up sitting and contemplating everything. He reeled over the idea that he was Holden’s emergency contact. What about his parents? And how sad was it that the person Holden considered closest to him was the partner who barely talked to him?

Bill saw Ted about to leave and hurried over to him. “Ted, I need to ask you something.”

“Yes, Bill. What is it,” Ted responded.

“On Holden’s personnel records, did he happen to list his parents initially as his next of kin?” Bill asked.

“I’ve only glanced over the file, but I believe so,” Ted answered.

“I would like to call his parents, let them know about his condition,” Bill said.

Ted seemed to consider the request for a few seconds and then said, “Sure. I’ll get the number for you,” and gave him an uncomfortably cheerful smile.

“Thanks,” Bill muttered as Ted went on his way.

Gregg accompanied Bill to Holden’s room. Bill took a big breath before he went through the doorway, steeling himself to Holden’s condition. The two men sat down in the guest chairs, and Bill realized he still wasn’t ready. Holden looked frankly horrible. There was a bandage on the right side of his head, near his temple. His right eye was blackened and purple bruises were scattered around his face. Holden’s right arm was elevated by a pillow and his hand was in a temporary cast.

Bill knew he’d feel better once Holden woke up. He just had to know Holden would be the same annoying, arrogant, weird young man that he was before the kidnapping. Then he could rest easy.

Gregg left after an hour, promising to come back the next day to relieve Bill, not knowing that Bill had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

The next thing he knew, Bill was waking up, his back seizing with discomfort from sitting in one position in the hard chair. He realized what woke him up— Holden was groaning quietly in the bed.

Bill stood and walked over to look closer at Holden. The young man’s eyes were fluttering and then all of a sudden they opened, and he seemed to be staring up at the ceiling.

“Hey, kid. Are you okay?” Bill said gently.

At first Holden didn’t act like he heard him, but then slowly turned his head to look at Bill blearily. “What?” Holden croaked out.

“How do you feel?” Bill asked.

“My head… hurts. I’m so tired. But I’m okay, Bill. Why?” Holden answered unclearly.

Bill couldn’t help but chuckle. “Because you’ve been badly injured. Don’t you remember?”

Holden’s gaze shifted away from Bill’s eyes and he grew quiet. “No, I don’t remember anything.”

Bill had the distinct impression that Holden was lying, but let it go.

“It’s okay, Holden. You’re gonna be all right. I’ll get the doctor. I’ll be right back,” Bill said calmly.

Bill was almost out the door when Holden said, “Bill, wait.”

Bill turned around and was struck by the vulnerable look on Holden’s face.

“I’m scared,” Holden said without further explanation.

“Hey, hey, kid. There’s no need. I’m sure your memory will come back soon, and you’re fine now. Everything’s okay.”

Holden looked chastened and said, “I’m sorry. Okay. Just get the doctor. Thanks.”

Bill left the room feeling strangely moved and still worried.

The doctor checked Holden’s condition, ordered some pain medication, and Bill returned to the side of a much more relaxed and almost goofy Holden.

“Bill, I feel better. You don’t have to worry. I’m not scared anymore,” Holden slurred drunkenly. “I was being silly.”

The doctor smiled and turned to Bill and said, “He’ll be staying here most likely for three or four days, with his hand surgery scheduled for tomorrow. The skull fracture and concussion will be treated with medications and rest. There’s not much else that can be done. But he will need someone to help him once he leaves the hospital, as he will not have use of his right hand and he will be occasionally dizzy.”

Bill smiled back. “Don’t worry. I have plenty of room at my house. You can stay with me a while. I want you to.” Bill felt strange saying those words, but found that he meant them.

Holden smiled largely and said, “Bill, that’ll be fun.”

Bill chuckled in response and said, “Sure, Holden. Lots of fun.” But Bill’s concern about Holden’s memory loss cut into his humor. When Holden remembered, he would have a lot to deal with.


	4. Recovery

Bill waited until Holden fell into a deep sleep before he left the room to call Ted, who, true to his word, had found Holden’s parents’ phone number in his personnel files. Ted informed Bill that Holden had not written down his parents’ names, only the phone number.

Bill wasted no time in calling. He felt a bit nervous, though he wasn’t sure why. Having assumed Holden’s parents were fairly odd in order to have created him could have something to do with it.

The line rang eight times, and as he was about to give up, he heard the phone pick up and then a woman’s voice, “Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Mrs. Ford?” Bill asked.

“Yes. I’m Ellen Ford,” the woman said in a suspicious tone of voice. “Who is this?”

“My name is Bill Tench. I’m with the FBI and I work with your son Holden,” Bill explained.

A silence was then followed by, “Oh. Is he okay?”

“He’s going to be fine. He was involved in a… hostage situation, and he was injured. He’s on the road to recovery, but right now Holden’s in the hospital in Virginia. I thought you and Mr. Ford would want to know and maybe come see him,” Bill said, still feeling awkward.

Ellen responded, “My husband is dead. He died years ago. And I’m not doing very well myself. I can’t really travel. You say he’s getting better? I’m afraid I can’t be there. Will you tell him I wish him well?”

Bill was so shocked by the woman’s words that he was speechless. When he recovered he finally said, “I can. Sure. Do you have any questions about his condition?”

“No, you’ve told me enough. I’m glad Holden will be fine. I’ll call him when he’s back home,” Ellen Ford said in a calm voice.

“That’s it?” Bill asked, some of his anger leaking into his voice.

“Yes. I have to hang up now. I’ll talk to Holden later. Goodbye and thank you for calling,” Ellen said and then the line went dead.

Bill stood there in the hospital payphone kiosk and listened to the dial tone hum in his ear. He took a deep breath, shook his head and walked back to Holden’s room.

The following day, the surgery on Holden’s hand went well. Bill again sat beside his unconscious partner’s hospital bed, waiting for him to wake. He was getting sick of the feeling.

When Holden finally regained consciousness, he was drowsy but not dopey, and Bill felt almost nostalgic for the goofy Holden who said staying at Bill’s house would be fun.

“How are you feeling? How’s your hand?” Bill asked Holden.

“I’m okay. Just sore all over,” Holden responded slowly.

Bill said, “It’s no wonder. You’ve got bruises on your bruises. Are they giving you enough for the pain?”

“Yeah, I told them to back off on the painkillers a bit. I don’t like feeling out of control,” Holden replied. “Don’t worry about me, Bill. I’m fine.”

Bill steeled himself, saying, “Hey, kid, I called your mother. She’s not up to traveling so she can’t come here.”

Holden’s face showed shock and what almost looked like horror to Bill.

“You called… my mother?” Holden gawked. “Why… I mean, how did you get her number?”

Bill felt awkward again, not understanding what he was wading into. “I had Ted get into your personnel file and give me the number.” Bill was amazed that Holden seemed more alarmed that Bill had called his mother when he was badly injured than he was that his mother wouldn’t come to visit her injured son.

“Oh,” Holden said. “That’s okay, I guess. I wouldn’t want her to visit anyway.”

Bill was confused by Holden’s reactions, but couldn’t find it in himself to pry further.

It was Holden’s turn to feel awkward, apparently, as he looked down at this casted arm and said, “You know, Bill, I don’t need to stay with you when I get out of here. I can take care of myself.”

“How are you going to do that, Holden, with your dominant hand in a cast and a head injury making you dizzy and exhausted?” Bill asked angrily.

Holden gave Bill an honest and open look and said, “Bill, I know how you feel about me. I don’t understand why you even offered. It’s beyond…” Holden trailed off, looking near tears.

“Look, Holden, I don’t think you do know how I feel about you. We haven’t connected in a while, and most of it’s my fault. You’re my friend, and I want you to stay with me until you’re better. I don’t want you to feel guilty or awkward. Just let me take care of you,” Bill said earnestly.

“I’m your friend?” Holden asked, smiling shyly.

The entire conversation made Bill self-conscious.

“Enough of that. You concentrate on getting better. Don’t worry about what’ll happen later,” Bill assured.

A day after the surgery, FBI agents arrived to interview Holden, in order to close the case against Smith and gather details only Holden would know. Holden requested Bill leave the hospital room for privacy, and Bill actually felt hurt that Holden wouldn’t share his experience with him, though he realized he was being ridiculous.

Wendy visited later in the day, bringing flowers. Holden accepted the gift with embarrassment, much to Bill’s amusement.

“Bill, can I talk to you out in the hall?” Wendy asked as she was about to leave.

Bill followed her out of the room and asked, “What’s up?”

Wendy looked into Bill’s eyes with her typical direct intensity. “Bill, Holden is probably going to need to see a therapist. He’s been through some trauma, and he’ll need somebody to talk to.”

“Why are you telling me? Talk to him about it,” Bill said with some exasperation.

Wendy gave Bill a fond and almost piteous look and said, “Because you’ve taken responsibility for him by offering him a place to stay. If he won’t see a therapist, he might turn to you. You’re not the most accessible person, Bill. But you should make yourself more open to Holden. Let him confide in you.”

“How am I supposed to be more open?” Bill sputtered. “You’re talking to a guy here, Wendy. You’re talking about two guys.”

“Figure it out, Bill,” Wendy said, nearly rolling her eyes.

After another day in the hospital, Holden’s doctor declared him fit to be released in the morning, as long as he had somebody to care for him. Bill spent the day cleaning his messy house and setting up the guest room with fresh sheets, before doing grocery shopping to fill up his empty refrigerator and kitchen cupboards.

The next morning, Bill drove Holden home from the hospital. He carefully held onto Holden’s elbow as they walked from the car to the front door.

The entire journey took all of Holden’s energy, and Bill directed a very pale Holden past the living room into the guest room, where without any sense of embarrassment, Holden crawled into bed and fell asleep.

Bill relaxed into his recliner and watched some TV, eventually falling asleep himself. He woke up suddenly, aware that there was somebody in his house, but forgetting who it could be, and gasped when he saw Holden shuffling out of the guest room.

“Jesus Christ, you scared me,” Bill said with a chuckle. “I made some sandwiches. Come eat at the table.”

Holden’s hair was standing up in all directions, which Bill found kind of endearing. He had a bit more color in his face, but still looked exhausted and weary.

“Aw, Bill, you didn’t have to do that. But thanks, I am a bit hungry,” Holden said as he carefully sat in a dining room chair.

“Wow. I haven’t been here since…” Holden started. He looked up at Bill who was plating up the sandwiches and muttered, “Sorry.”

Bill grabbed two Cokes out of the fridge and sat down and said, “No worries. Yeah, I haven’t quite made it into a home since Nancy and Brian left, but it’s comfortable for me.”

“Have you thought of moving into a smaller place?” Holden asked, then added, “It’s none of my business. You don’t have to answer that.”

Bill sighed. “Holden, you can ask anything you want.” Remembering Wendy’s advice, he added, “And you can tell me anything too. If anything’s bothering you, or, you know, you need someone to talk to.”

“What did Wendy say to you?” Holden asked.

“Shit, Holden, nothing. I just thought… Never mind. Talk to me, don’t talk to me. Either way, just make yourself comfortable here,” Bill said, feeling his cheeks redden.

Holden looked out the front window and said, “I understand what you’re saying, Bill. I know you think I’m gonna fall apart after what Smith did to me, but you have to believe me, it wasn’t anything too traumatic. I was scared, yeah, but the things he did to me that everybody keeps skirting around were disturbing, sure, but it wasn’t like he raped me.”

“Holden, fuck. I know he didn’t do that to you. But the doctor said it looked like you were sexually assaulted. So yes, we were worried about you,” Bill explained.

Holden pushed his sandwich aside. “All right. He did do… some things that were maybe sexual in nature. It wasn’t really… sexual assault. It was just a general attack. And of course, he undressed me. I was pretty badly injured, so I couldn’t fight back very well. Which does make me feel fairly unmanly. But I know that’s ridiculous.”

Holden stopped, realizing that he was rambling. “Is this more than you wanted to hear?”

“No, please, I do want to know what happened to you. It matters to me. I was involved then and I’m concerned now,” Bill insisted.

“Thanks. Things are still blurry, but what I remember doesn’t bother me that much. Is that weird?” Holden asked. “I’m okay, really. So don’t worry about me.”

Bill smiled, relieved. “Okay, I’ll back off. Just wanted to let you know I’m here if you want to talk.”

“I appreciate it, Bill. I do. I don’t know how I’m gonna pay you back for everything you’re doing for me,” Holden said, looking even more tired.

“Don’t think like that. It’s what friends do for each other,” Bill said.

Bill had been asleep for a few hours when he first heard the sounds. He thought he was dreaming them, but the groaning and crying got louder until he was fully awake. He jumped out of bed and made his way to the guest room. Just before he was going to knock on the door, the sounds stopped.

Bill realized he didn’t know what to say if he opened the door, so he just stood there, listening. He could hear Holden shifting around and then silence, so he quietly walked back to his bedroom.

Holden was in the living room when Bill woke up the next morning, much to Bill’s surprise. And he looked worse than he did the day before, dark circles shadowing his eyes.

“How long have you been awake?” Bill asked in an accusatory voice.

“Not long, Bill. I have trouble sleeping in a new place. I’m sure it’ll be better tonight,” Holden said sheepishly.

But though there didn’t seem to be a repeat of the nightmare the next night, Holden looked even more exhausted the following morning. Bill began to wonder if inviting him to stay at his house was a good idea.

“Hey, kid,” Bill said over breakfast, “What’s going on with you? I thought the pain pills made you sleepy.”

“Well, Bill, maybe I can’t sleep because I’ve got a head injury and my hand hurts, and I don’t want to take too many pills because they make me feel out of control and kind of crazy. Or maybe I’m not used to living with somebody who’s watching my every move,” Holden said snarkily.

Bill was stunned silent. He slowly looked over at Holden, waiting for more.

Holden sighed, closed his eyes and rested his head on his hand. “God, I’m sorry, Bill. That was awful.”

Bill responded, “It’s okay, Holden. You’re allowed to be annoyed.”

“I just feel so… on the edge. Like I’m waiting for something bad to happen. I can’t sleep. I don’t know what’s going on,” Holden said.

“Give yourself a break, kid. You’re injured, you’ve got all kinds of meds running through your veins, you’re in a different place. It makes sense,” Bill soothed.

“I suppose so. But I’m still sorry. You’re doing so much for me, and I just lash out at you like a spoiled child. Jesus.” Holden rubbed at his head.

Bill responded, “Do me a favor. Take some pain meds for that headache. You don’t have to be in control right now. Just do something good for yourself.”

“I will, tonight, before bed. It’ll knock me out,” Holden insisted.

That night, Bill watched closely as Holden took his painkillers and went to bed.

Again, Bill was awakened by sounds of suffering, panic. He knew right away it was Holden having another nightmare. He had to get the kid to talk about the attack, or this was probably gonna keep happening and Holden would never get enough sleep to fully recover.

Bill walked over to the guest room door, and he thought he heard Holden’s voice. He went quiet and heard, “No. Stop, Dad, don’t,” and then the sound of heartbreaking sobs that stopped Bill in his tracks.


	5. Remember

Bill couldn’t go back to sleep after hearing Holden’s incendiary words during his nightmare. They suggested some terrible things, unthinkable things. But Bill felt unable to knock on Holden’s door or enter the guest room. He didn’t know what he would say, and couldn’t help but think he’d be intruding.

But once 6:00 a.m. came around and he heard Holden wake and shuffle into the living room, Bill had decided to talk to the young man about what was bothering him and interrupting his sleep, regardless of what Holden wanted.

Bill entered the living room and hesitated when he got a glimpse of Holden’s bruised, tired face and shadowed, disturbed eyes. He didn’t want to hurt the kid any more than he already was, but figured Holden’s health would not improve until he could get some healing sleep. Maybe Wendy was right and Holden needed to talk about his trauma, whatever it was.

“Still having trouble sleeping, Holden?” Bill asked, startling Holden, who jumped.

“Shit, Bill. Sorry. You scared me. I didn’t know you were up,” Holden gasped out with his left hand on his chest.

“No, I’m sorry, Holden,” Bill said nervously. “I gotta talk to you. Can you come to the dining room? I need some coffee.”

Holden looked confused and stood up slowly, wincing in pain. “I don’t know what’s going on. I just can’t sleep, yeah. Nothing to do with your house though, Bill.”

Holden made his way to the dining table, pulled out a chair with his left hand and sat primly in it, clearly expecting some kind of scolding. Bill felt guilty already, knowing Holden was probably not ready to talk about the subject he was going to bring up.

Bill poured two mugs of coffee and placed one in front of Holden. He sat down and decided to be direct. “Holden, I want you to tell me what Smith did to you. I think you need to talk about it.”

“I’m starting to understand what Wendy said to you the other day at the hospital. If it will ease your mind, I’ll tell you generally what he did. He took my clothes off, fondled me a bit, acted like he was going to sexually assault me. But he mainly beat me and scratched me. He was very intense and almost… Well, he may have been dissociating. He seemed to think I was his sister. Which even at the time, I took as an insult of sorts,” Holden began.

He then took a deep breath and looked over at Bill. “He said things about making sure nothing and nobody would destroy my innocence, things like that. Obviously speaking to his sister, in his mind. It was very disturbing and frightening, I admit that.”

Bill looked at Holden with sympathy and asked, “Are you having nightmares about Smith?”

“Nightmares? Oh, you heard me,” Holden said, turning pink. “Sorry. I… haven’t had any nightmares about Smith. Kemper sometimes, yeah, but not Smith. Not yet. But I may have underplayed how upset I am over that night with Smith. It does bother me. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Bill said, “I need to ask you something very personal. I apologize ahead of time, but last night I heard something very disturbing. You were having a nightmare and you said something worrying. It doesn’t have anything to do with Smith, I think.”

“Okay. You’re making me nervous,” Holden said, and Bill noticed his lower lip quivering slightly.

“You were crying,” Bill continued, “and you said, ‘No, Dad, stop.’”

Holden stared at Bill, face blank, and started breathing a bit faster.

“This is so… ironic or something,” Holden said in a strange tone. “All the time in Atlanta, your son was going through a horrible thing, and not once did you say anything to me about it. And after we came back, and Nancy took Brian and moved out, you didn’t even bother to tell me. I had to find out from Wendy. And now you’re asking me… You want me to talk to you? Now?”

Holden’s eyes filled with tears, but there was fury and anger behind the pained, limpid pools.

Bill interrupted, “Hey, hey. I get it. And I’m very sorry that I cut you out of my life. I didn’t know how to deal with what I was going through, and I took it out on you. But you want to know how I felt through all that? I felt confused and horrified. I was so worried about Brian, but for more than the reasons you know.”

“What do you mean?” Holden asked.

Bill answered, slowly, “I was concerned that maybe what happened to Brian said something about what kind of boy Brian is, that he was more than just an innocent witness. I mean, shit, the whole crucifixion scene was his idea.”

“Bill, he was just interested in the idea of resurrection, that’s all. He was trying to bring the toddler back,” Holden insisted.

Bill nodded. “Sure, maybe. But it wasn’t the first time I’ve wondered about Brian. He barely speaks. He doesn’t make eye contact. He has no social skills.”

Holden answered, “Just because he has no social skills now doesn’t mean he won’t have any in a few years. He’s just a little boy, Bill. He’s not like our interview subjects. He’s got you and Nancy loving him. That’s going to make all the difference.”

“Thanks,” Bill said with a smile. “But you can imagine how that made me feel, to think about my own son that way.”  
“Was that why you didn’t want to talk to me about any of it?” Holden asked, looking away.

Bill stood up and got a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He returned and sat, lit a cigarette and breathed the smoke in deeply.

“To be honest, Holden, I’m not sure why I didn’t tell you. I was angry with you. After Vacaville, Kemper. I was angry that you put our study at risk, but I was more angry you put your life at risk,” Bill said.

“I’m still angry, a bit. It became so easy to take everything out on you,” Bill continued. “It’s something my father used to do when I was a kid. Take all his frustrations out on me and my sister. Not physically, but emotionally. He would go all cold and shout at us or, worse, ignore us.”

Holden looked at his cast on his lap for a few moments, then said, “I suppose you want to know about my father.”

Bill answered, “If you want to talk about him, I’m here. It’s not out of morbid curiosity. If you need to talk about something, I’m here, Holden. I won’t judge, I promise.”

“That’s hard for me to believe, Bill. It seems like all you’d been doing before I was injured was judging me, harshly,” Holden said with little emotion.

Bill sighed and said, “That’s fair and probably true. And I can’t make excuses for myself. But I can promise you that right now, I won’t judge you for anything you tell me. Okay?”

Holden sniffled. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of this. It all happened so long ago. Normally it doesn’t bother me at all.” Holden began trembling, and Bill got the blanket from the couch and wrapped it around Holden’s shoulders.

“Take your time,” Bill said warmly.

“It’s just that this thing with Smith maybe has brought back some memories, and I’ve been having nightmares,” Holden admitted.

“What kind of memories?” Bill asked.

“Back when I was a kid, when I was about six, seven, eight…” Holden had a far-away look in his eyes. “He was a mean man. He used to get so angry. Oh, God, so angry. So mad. Everything I did made him mad. I was too weird. I didn’t make friends easily. I liked studying. I didn’t like sports.”

Holden continued, “He used to call me a fag. I didn’t even know what that was until I looked it up. He’d call me a fag and say I was an embarrassment to manhood, to him, to the United States of America,” Holden chuckled briefly.

“And when he was really mad, he would… make me do things, do things to him, for him. Things I didn’t even know were… I didn’t know what they were. Um, I didn’t know they were sexual. I just knew they were wrong. And sick.”

Tears were dripping down Holden’s face, and Bill wanted to reach out and hold his good hand, but didn’t think Holden would appreciate the touch at that moment.

“He would make me do that to him, but I was the fag?” Holden almost shouted. “What a joke. I was a little kid, just learning to live, and this is how he taught me.” Holden sobbed openly, with no embarrassment.

“I hated him. But he’s dead now. He’s dead, and I’m okay. It really doesn’t bother me usually, Bill. But for a long time, I couldn’t even think of sex. I didn’t date much in high school. I was so ashamed,” Holden continued. “But then Debbie came along, and she taught me so much. She was so great. But even with Debbie, I felt ashamed. And I made her feel it too. I was such an asshole.”

Holden put his head down on his left arm and breathed deeply in and out. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, then sat back up straight.

Bill made sure Holden was making eye contact with him and said, “Holden, you must know you have nothing to be ashamed about. Your father abused you. You are an innocent victim.”

“I know that, Bill. I do. But my father was right in one regard. I am a strange person. I know what people think of me. And you know what? I don’t really care that much,” Holden said calmly.

Bill chuckled and said, “I do know that about you. And it can be fucking annoying, but also strangely impressive. You cannot be stopped. You are a force to be reckoned with.”

Holden wiped more tears away and smiled, “You’re damn right.”

Bill spread his hands out in front of him and asked, “Do you think Wendy’s right? You think talking about trauma can help?”

“It has been known to work,” Holden responded. “And I appreciate you trying to help me. I do. It’s just hard to talk about. I still don’t know what to do with my anger and confusion. But I really do handle it pretty well most of the time. I don’t feel embarrassed about it, just… sad.”

After the conversation, Holden, exhausted, went back to bed for a nap. Bill spent a few hours sitting in front of the TV, not paying attention to the game, but thinking about what Holden had been through and how it most likely helped shape his character. He found that he was impressed by Holden’s resilience and strength.

Two weeks later, a much improved Holden was given the all-clear to return to his own apartment, even though the cast would remain for another month. The dizziness and exhaustion had eased and Holden had adapted amazingly to depending on his left hand.

Bill drove Holden over to his place, put the car in idle, and turned to Holden. “If you need anything, just call me, and I’ll come over, okay? I mean it.”

“Thanks, Bill,” Holden said. “You’ve been a real friend.”

Holden suddenly leaned over and embraced Bill in a tight hug. Bill stiffened with surprise and then gently hugged him back.

“You know how you said your father was teaching you how to live? Well, regardless of what that sick fuck tried to instill in you, you’re living a good, positive, productive life that anyone would be proud of,” Bill said. “And I’m proud of you.”

Holden gave Bill a watery smile, said, “That means a lot, Bill,” and walked toward his front door and his future.


End file.
